Page 26 of Real Fake Husband

She’s suspiciously quiet.

I glance over.

“You’re right,” she says. “A nice dinner to bury the hatchet sounds good.”

9

CAL

Afew minutes later, I drive up to my favorite biker bar: Mom’s Dirty Dogs. Out front, a row of bikes sit gleaming, even in the rainy gray light. I pull into the parking lot off to the side and park. Josie seems apprehensive as I cut the power and slip my keys out of the ignition.

“Thisis the place?” she asks.

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with it?”

“No, it just seems a little…” She trails off, which is funny since I’ve never known Josie to not say what’s on her mind. Then again, she doesn’t have to say it for me to know what she’s thinking.

“Rough? Why? Because it’s called Mom’s Dirty Dogs?”

Josie shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“It’s nicer on the inside, I promise,” I grumble. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the big bad wolves inside.”

She huffs and opens the door. “I can protect myself.”

I’ve got no doubt whatsoever.Of course, she’s more than capable of handling herself when the need arises. We walk through the door and we’re met by a wave of noise. I spot Theo among a group of guys from the construction site, and they all turn to greet me with cheers and waves. That catches the attention of the bartender, who looks up and grins at me.

Thelma, the owner, and “Mom” at Mom’s Dirty Dogs, has been working at the bar for as long as I can remember. Everybody calls her Thelma la Deuce, or Sweet Thelma. She looks exactly like I remember her: burly, wearing a flannel shirt with faded jeans, and long, braided gray hair. She fixes us with a warm smile.

“Eyy! Look who it is,” she says, her voice rough. “It’s been too long, Mr. Cal.”

“Hey, Sweet Thelma, you still here?” I tease as she rushes out to hug me.

“Of course! Where else would I be, sugar? At least now I don’t have to throw you out for having a shitty fake ID.” She laughs and then notices Josie. “And who’s this?”

“This is my good friend, Josie.”

Josie shakes her head. “And by good friend, he means the woman who has to put up with him,” she bites back.

Thelma roars with laughter, taking Josie’s hand in her wrinkly ones. She gives it a gentle squeeze. “Welcome to my place. What can I get you two?”

“Two beers to my favorite booth,” I say.

“You got it. Table is yours.”

I lead Josie through the crowd of people, shaking hands and getting pats on the back along the way. Josie stays close, and I almost lose her in the group until I grab her soft little hand. She doesn’t let go. I lead her toward my favorite booth in the back. It’s the only one that’s empty, and in the middle, is a reserved card.

This table’s reserved, ya dirty dog!

Means you do NOT fucking sit down here.

Sincerely, Mom.

PS: Love you, too.

I move the sign to the side. This table is always reserved, just in case.

“Didn’t you just get back from Cali?” Josie asks, sliding into the seat across from me. “How does everyone here already know you?”

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